Day of Tomes, 13th of Suhin, Year 401

Desire ripped Layla awake again. Like every morning for the last two weeks.

Since she got here, she’d never gotten sick of being aroused around the clock. She woke up wet and ruttish, every single morning. She went to bed, soaked and randy, every single night. She’d given up on masturbation the second week after they’d arrived. Orgasms were fun, but they didn’t satisfy her. Only feeding stilled her desire.

And fuck, the dreams. Adult film stars didn’t have wet dreams the way Layla had wet dreams.

But as long as she fed at least once a week, it was just… desire.

Uncomplicated. Enjoyable. Simple. Easily sated.

The sensation that rampaged through her body was none of those things. Layla had been on pain pills for eight months when she was nineteen, when a car accident had wrecked her body like a pinata. The spasms and nerve pain had made her migraines rage out of control, making the pain of the broken bones seem like a tickle in comparison. As soon as she had healed enough, she’d quit the pills cold turkey.

The withdrawals hadn’t been shit compared to this.

She’d had the shakes for the last week, and it had been hell hiding it from the others. The zombie gatorfish had been her salvation, cutting over a week off their trip. She honestly didn’t think she’d have made it another week.

It had started so simply. How long can I hold out?

Layla was impulsive, yes, but she was also willful. The kind of will that would do the dishes, the laundry, tidy her room, whether she had a migraine or not. The kind of will that could just put a bottle of pills down and never pick it up again. The kind of will that lost a father, a mother, and a sister on the same day, and still got up to make the goddamn donuts.

Okay, there were no donuts, but there was a fuckload of fish. And a fuckload of people that had to get paid. A constant stream of paperwork to ensure the boats and the canneries stayed running. When her aunt had offered to buy Layla out, her only condition had been that they didn’t downsize the family business for the next five years. She’d signed the paperwork for the buyout two days later. Then she’d spent a week locked in her room at the old house.

The answer to the question was twenty-six days and counting.

At first, it was about making it another day, testing herself, overcoming her limitations, exploring her new body, what it could do, and what it couldn’t. Then it started to become a question of how much she’d have to feed to get back to one. She had been concerned about that question. Would she hurt one of them if she tried to feed on the trail? Then, as the days stretched into weeks, she knew she would.

Hell, by week two, she was pretty sure she’d turn Rory into a dried husk if she so much as kissed him. Jack was off-limits. He’d already responded badly to the unnatural lust she provoked, even if she’d turned it down in the Grotto until she was worried she’d broken the knob off the dial. Erin was her best bet, but she was pretty sure the dreadnought wouldn’t be able to walk after she fed on her.

And… she wouldn’t be able to blunt the experience the way she’d done with the other Chosen so far. Her little edibles in Nafsbirg, Isenmar, and Mistelein had almost instantly become obsessed with her. She understood though. The experience was better than sex or drugs. Or sex and drugs. It faded in a few days if she didn’t feed again. She didn’t think Erin was ready for the real thing.

Her penalties had gotten so bad, she’d had trouble keeping up with the others, even though she was pretty sure she had the highest Endurance in the group. Marathon sexy times will do that. The others were continuously impressed with her firepower, but the truth was, her constant craving wrecked her concentration and the status penalties significantly impacted her performance.

Once she got herself sorted out, she’d give them a real show.

None of those thoughts really made it through the scrambled mess between her ears. She felt like her entire body was connected to her privates. Every time she shifted against the sheet or the blanket moved or a breeze blew in from the window, frissons of lust rippled through her.

Rory: Jack?

Jack: Yeah, bud?

The boys were awake. The memory of Jack putting her to bed rampaged through her, the scent of his skin, his strength as she hung from his neck, his arms around her. She deserved a fucking award for the poker face she'd put on last night.

Desire. Jack. Jack will feed me. No.

Rory: Are you at the inn?

Jack: Yeah, I’m downstairs, teaching Tilly’s cook how to make french fries.

Rory: I’ll be down in a tick. Save me some?

Jack: We don’t have the grease just right yet, but I’ll get you some home fries for breakfast.

Food. Satisfy one hunger to keep the others quiet. She’d damn near eaten her body weight in pastries last night, trying to keep the Desire in check. It had been surprisingly easy, but that was more about how fucking exhausted she was from the walk and from holding everything together.

She thought of Jack carrying her to bed, and how he touched her. Held her. How close he had been. How easy it would have been to sweep his resistance away and pull him down into her, to press that beautiful, chiseled body down, look into those deep black eyes and take what she wanted from him. Jack will feed me. No. Erin. Erin will feed me. Yes. Yes. Erin. Yes.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

[whisper: Layla :: Erin] Hey…

[whisper: Layla :: Erin] Erin?

[whisper: Layla :: Erin] Ugh… why don’t you ever check your messages?

“Okay. Be casual. You’ve got this. You’re a big girl. The boys don’t know you’re like one full frontal hug away from sucking their souls out through their… don’t think about that,” she shook herself.

Casual.

Layla: Noooo… not time to be awake.

Jack: Then go back to sleep. The messages don’t make any noise, so I know we didn’t wake you.

Layla: I need a bath. Save me some fries too. And eggs. And bacon. Ooo, sausage? Do we have any biscuits left?

Food. I’ll eat. Then I’ll go take a bath. Then Erin will be awake, and everything will be okay. Erin will feed me. Yes.

Rory: Scones.

Layla: Biscuits.

Rory: I’m not going to argue with you, tart. But I am going to eat them all before you can get downstairs.

Rory will feed me.

“Noooooooooooooooooooo…” she groaned at herself.

“Okay, downstairs. Casual. Breakfast,” she whispered, rolling out of bed.

She ignored the message as they continued to pile up while she dressed, tossing her trail clothes into a bag. Her panel pulsed at her.

Jack: Oh hey, bud. Bring your armor down. I’m gonna bring mine and Erin’s to the west end of town and have them cleaned and maintained. You too, El.

Layla: Ten-four, Tex.

Jack. No.

She folded her combat robes and tucked them under her arms, opening the door and starting when Rory emerged from his at the same moment. The moment broke her tension and she giggled as he laughed at the coincidence.

You’re ok. Everything’s okay. Focus on the small things.

“Where’s your armor?” she asked.

“In my storage. It smells like something crawled into it and died,” he replied.

“Smell mine,” she smirked.

“Wha… why? How?” he was baffled by the complete lack of stench on the combat robes.

“My B.O. smells like flowers or some shit,” she cackled and trounced down the stairs.

The better to eat you with. No.

“One breakfast mead, please Tilly,” she chirped.

Alcohol numbed the craving. It was the only way she’d gotten through last night.

“It’s seventh bell, lassie,” the bartender eyeballed her.

“So? Do dwarves not drink in the morning or something?” Layla winked at her.

Fuck. Even Tilly’s starting to look edible.

Jack emerged from the kitchen, carrying…

Who gave a fuck what he was carrying? He was wearing a grey tunic and fresh breeches. His cloak was nowhere to be found, and his short two-toned hair had been trimmed since last night. He had shaved off the stubble that had slowly grown in over the month they’d been on the road, revealing the stark lines of his jaw. His bottomless black eyes met hers as he put Rory’s plate down, and he smiled at her.

He looked like Hades if the Greek god of the underworld were a medieval Playgirl model.

Jack. No. Jack… Jack...

Desire.

It welled up inside her like a flood, reaching out without her permission and catching Jack like a bug that had wandered to close to the spider’s web. In the back of her mind, she felt his will flex against hers, unconsciously struggling against her power. He was so strong. So strong. So beautiful. Jack…

Rory was talking. Jack looked away from her. No.

“Jackson… feed me,” she heard herself whisper.

Her power welled up, rising like a tidal wave, intent on crushing any resistance and having him right there on the bar. The others could watch. Or join.

“No,” he said.

No?

HE BELONGED TO HER. SHE WOULD HAVE HIM.

“Layla, are you okay?”

He… didn’t belong to her. YES. No.

He was her friend. He and Erin were happy. She loved them. Love. Yes. Real love.

Rory snapped his fingers near her face. He was talking.

“Hmmm?” she pulled her eyes away from Jack’s face. “What, Rory?”

“How long has it been since you fed?” he leaned in and whispered to her. “Hey,” he touched her hand.

Rory. She loved him.

“Rory…” she turned to look at him.

“You need to feed,” he smiled gently.

Yes. No. Get up. Walk away. Erin. Yes.

She pulled her hand away from him.

“No, I can’t right now. I… umm… I’ll hurt you. I… uhh, I’m gonna go take a bath,” she stood up.

“You sure?” he reached out, but she backed away from his hand.

“Yeah. Just… just let me go get myself together,” she smiled at him and turned to walk away.

“Layla?” Jack called after her.

She froze. Jackson. Please. Please. No. I am better than you, bitch.

“Whatever you’re gonna say, Jackson, don’t. I can’t… Not right now, okay?” she walked toward the bathhouse.

“Okay, Layla.”

She pushed the bathhouse door open, stripping everything off and walking to the cold water spout in the corner, almost diving underneath it. She sputtered and squirmed, but held herself there under the icy water, the pain driving away the urge to turn and march back to the bar and force both of the boys to fuck her on the taproom floor until both of them were desiccated shells.

“I am better than you, bitch,” she whispered.

Erin would be here soon.

Erin. Yes, Erin. Soon.

[whisper: Layla :: Erin] Please wake up, Erin.

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